


Unfinished sick!Rodney fic

by kisahawklin



Series: Unfinished and discontinued fic [26]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Angst, M/M, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-20
Updated: 2010-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 20:20:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisahawklin/pseuds/kisahawklin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney starts to have trouble at work and John has to figure out what to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfinished sick!Rodney fic

**Author's Note:**

> Started this when I found out my best friend's wife had been diagnosed with MS. Between that and my dad's death a couple of years before, this fic was extremely therapeutic for me. I meant for it to come out the other side - it was going to end on them being reincarnated and toddling around Atlantis - but I didn't get there. Outline of the whole concept at the end.

When John came to Atlantis, he'd been closing in on forty. Fit as a fiddle, only slightly psychologically damaged, and ready to take on the universe. He knew heart disease ran in his family, but he tried not to think about it too much. He ate reasonably well, ran as often as he could, took a laidback approach to life.

It wasn't long after he and Rodney met that he found out Rodney had high blood pressure. Considering how he handled stress (which is exactly how he handled everything else), John wouldn’t have been surprised to see Rodney have a heart attack on one of their off-world encounters. If he hadn’t needed Rodney’s expertise so much, the high blood pressure, allergies, and reactions to stress would have kept him grounded.

Rodney never seemed worried about that, though; apparently heart disease didn’t run in his family. _Lucky bastard_ , John had thought at the time.

***

The first warning signs show up without much fanfare. Rodney becomes clumsy. John knows Rodney’s body language better than anyone else on his team; he knows that Rodney’s stuttering walk and flailing hands are manifestations of his nerves or his temper. It might look graceless to the uninitiated, but John knows better. Rodney can move if he needs to, and his hands fly over laptops and Ancient equipment alike when he's working.

John remembers Rodney complaining once about his hands shaking, and blowing him off with suggestion that he reduce the caffeine intake. It's not until he drops his coffee at the senior staff meeting that John realizes something more might be going on.

Rodney insists it's nothing, too little sleep or too much caffeine, and broods for the rest of the meeting, hands tucked under his armpits like he might lose them if he doesn’t keep them close. Rodney acting peculiar is par for the course, but this time something eats at John, his internal organs tying themselves into knots. He stuffs it down like he always does, waiting for the moment when Rodney will berate Woolsey or insult someone's intelligence and things will be okay again.

Three days later, Rodney trips in the lab, flailing spectacularly and bumping his head on a workstation. Radek takes him to the infirmary ( _Why didn’t you call the medical team to the lab_ , John fumes, listening to Radek’s anxious voice over the com), and Dr. Niranjan scans him to be sure he doesn’t have a concussion. John shows up shortly after the scientists stumble in and quietly asks what happened.

"He tripped." Radek pushes his glasses up and stares pointedly elsewhere.

"Tripped," John repeats, drawing the word out to say ‘yeah, right.’

"Yes," Rodney answers him, his typical tone of annoyance firmly in place, even as he lies incapacitated under the scanner. "I tripped. Fell over someone’s pencil or power bar wrapper or whatever, the idiots don’t know how to –"

"Be still, Rodney," Dr. Niranjan interrupts, and John thanks her silently for the intervention.

"Tripped over what, again?" John asks Radek.

Radek looks at him and shrugs, a delicate gesture on his small frame. "I didn’t see anything."

John breathes deeply and sighs the air out, watching Rodney’s EEG readings move steadily across the screen. "Anything out of the ordinary, doc?"

He only sees half the smile, as Dr. Niranjan shifts slightly to let her voice carry over her shoulder. "Not right now. I want to observe him for a little while, though."

John laughs at Rodney’s sputtered protests and slaps Radek on the back, turning to leave. Radek surprises him, though, by turning tail and nearly running out the door. _Sneaky bastard_ , John thinks. By virtue of being the last person to leave the room, he's now stuck with Rodney until he leaves the infirmary or someone comes to relieve him.

"I’ll be checking up on your power conversion specs when I get back," Rodney calls after Radek’s retreating back.

"Feeling well enough to taunt your colleagues, I see," John observes, sauntering up to the scanner and surreptitiously watching Rodney’s hands.

Rodney gesticulates wildly, outlining the finer points of Zelenka’s faults, and John thinks his guts might finally have worked out their kinks from the staff meeting. Rodney’s hands look like they always do, moving with precision and ease.

***

Three months later, John had completely forgotten about Rodney’s brief bout of clumsiness. They're on M4X-372 when John is violently reminded, and he will never forget again.

Rodney shoots him. In the leg, sure, and accidentally, but it's disturbing and painful nonetheless. Their guns are raised in response to the throng of people surrounding them, arrows and rocks at the ready, threatening to stone them back through the gate. Rodney's behind John, where John prefers him, truth be told, close enough that he can feel how Rodney's doing without having to look back every few seconds to check on him.

Everything happens at once; Ronon yells, something sears John's calf and is followed by a flare of pain, and Rodney chatters in panic, calling John’s name in between apologies and explanations.

"Colonel! Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Sheppard? Are you… You’re shot. I shot you. Colonel? Can you walk?" Rodney keeps babbling and John signals Ronon to scare the people off with several stunner blasts while Teyla dials the gate. John leans on Rodney – _who shot me_ he thinks, trying to puzzle it out in his brain – and hops through the gate, the pair of them looking like they’re in the three legged race at the county fair.

Niranjan gets to the gate room quicker than John thought possible. He's loaded onto a gurney and rushed to the infirmary before he can hear Rodney answer Woolsey’s tense, "What the hell happened?"

Rodney doesn’t come to visit him in the infirmary, which bothers John more than he cares to admit. Rodney is _always_ there, especially when it's his fault – seeking forgiveness and trying to apologize without actually taking any blame. When Niranjan lets him out on crutches the next morning, he hobbles by the labs and Rodney’s quarters before he hunts Ronon down; he wants to know what really happened before he's debriefed with the official version of events.

"He was aiming too low," Ronon tells him, "like his gun was too heavy. Then he started…" Ronon jerks his arm spasmodically.

"Seizure?" John asks.

Ronon shrugs. "Just his arm."

***

John and Jeannie had exchanged email addresses when she came to Atlantis, an unspoken acknowledgement of the necessary conduit for communication, should anything happen to Rodney. John had never expected to be on the receiving end of bad news.

The message consists of two simple but terrifying words. _He’s here._ John adds the unwritten _and you should come_ in his head.

He doesn’t bother to send a reply, knowing he's likely to arrive before the email does. The thought makes him smile, for no other reason than that he can surprise the hell out of Rodney when he shows up on Jeannie’s doorstep.

***

When it happens, it’s even better than he imagined because Rodney opens the door.

"What…" Rodney splutters, and John keeps his smile in ‘smirk’ mode, because he’s so relieved to see Rodney standing in the doorway, the smile that’s threatening might break his face.

"Jeannie said Kaleb’s making meatless-loaf. Asked me over for dinner," John says, his voice pitched carefully to ‘shit-eating.’ He pushes past Rodney and sets his duffle on the floor before noticing Madison peek around the corner from the living room.

"Who are you?" she asks, with the authority that only an eleven-year-old girl can have.

"You don't remember me?" 

She shakes her head silently. 

"Colonel John Sheppard, ma'am," John answers, straightening and saluting. Madison’s head retreats and Jeannie comes around the corner, gathering enough speed in three steps to knock solidly into him for a hug.

"It’s so good to see you! I don’t know why you don’t come home with Mer for Christmas," she says, starting the conversation while Rodney stands in front of the door, holding it open as if he expects John to be followed by a brass band and baton twirlers. Jeannie takes John’s hand in hers and returns to the living room. John goes along, not looking back to see if Rodney’s coming, but listening for the click that says Rodney has at least shut the door.

John spends several pleasant minutes answering questions from Madison and Jeannie in turn before Rodney gets over himself enough to stand in the archway to the living room, arms crossed and scowling. John smiles at him, because it’s the best way to fluster Rodney when he’s angry and about to rant in front of his niece.

"Why are you here?" Rodney asks, and John blinks deliberately to cover the fact that he’s rolling his eyes.

"Let’s take a walk," John says, inclining his head slightly toward Madison. Rodney pales, and before John wrap his mind around that little detail, Jeannie jumps up off the floor like it bit her in the ass.

"Maddie – you want to go to the playground?" Jeannie asks, her voice sweet and sure, though John can feel the tension in her rigid posture. "I’ll push you on the swings," she adds for incentive.

"I’m not a baby, mom," Madison whines and John swallows a smile when he hears the familiar McKay _I want to but I’m going to make you work at it_ ploy. Jeannie holds her hand out and Maddie takes it, and before John knows it he’s alone in Rodney’s sister’s living room with a pissed off Rodney and the smell of something made of tofu wafting in from the kitchen.

"Why are you here?" Rodney asks, deliberately punching each syllable.

"Checking up on a member of my team. Which, I might add, you didn’t bother to do when I was in the infirmary – for the bullet _you_ shot through my leg." John intends it to be sarcastic – droll, even – but by the end hurt and anger seep into his tone, and the reflection of it on Rodney’s face makes him regret his lack of control.

"M’sorry," Rodney mumbles, quietly, and without looking at John. John’s at a loss; he usually lets Teyla or Ronon deal with Rodney – he’s lousy at it when they’re not under pain of death. "I took a leave of absence," Rodney says.

"You’re doing this to torture me," John says, with a self-deprecating smile. Rodney answers with a small snort and shuffles into the room, brushing past John on his way to an armchair.

"You know I hate all the talking… about…" John lamely waves his hand, wondering when he’s lost his ability to finish sentences. He’s not really the right person for this, it’s not like he can shoot Rodney – _tag, you’re it_ – and things will be okay.

"I know," Rodney says, and John winces at the hopeful tone in his voice. John would gladly let the conversation slide if they were in Atlantis and he could keep an eye on Rodney. They’re on Earth, though, and he’s got a gnawing feeling that Rodney’s not planning on coming back. John thought he was immune to panic, but the thought of not having Rodney around to come up with crazy eleventh-hour plans makes him nauseous.

"I’m not mad," John offers, not sure whether Rodney would even care, whether that’s one of the troubles on his mind or not, but it’s the first, easiest reassurance he can give. Everything after that is slipperier and more complicated.

"Of course you’re not mad, why would you be mad?" Rodney says, and he’s off to the races before John can answer – _because you shot me!_. The best part of their friendship is that Rodney speaks for both of them roughly ninety percent of the time.

Rodney’s already on ‘Carson’ before John realizes he’s listing off people who have died while Atlantis has been under his care. John lets him talk it out, lets the words go and listens for tone, watches for body language. One of the things John knows about Rodney is that he considers every death a personal failure, and there are good friends whose deaths he’s carrying around. Still, Rodney’s hiding something, his shoulders too high for one of his impromptu confessions, his hands too still.

"Rodney," John says. He’s always liked the fact that all you have to do is say Rodney’s name and he fills in your accusation himself.

"All right," Rodney whines, his hands starting to move. "It’s more than that, but I need a break, I can’t save everybody all the time." Rodney’s confession continues, and John knows he’s telling the truth because he’s rolling his fingers, rubbing them against his palms, making fists. Something’s wrong, though, they’re not precise – his fingers are uncoordinated, and he’s added something new to his repertoire – grinding his right fist into his left palm.

"What's wrong with you?" John asks, and knows he's hit home when Rodney's mouth hangs open, wordless and gaping. John imitates Rodney’s new tic, and Rodney’s eyes register understanding and then hurt. He puts his head in his hands and starts to weep. John thinks he’s never really seen someone _weep_ before, he’s never heard such despair, and the discomfort sits heavily on him. He knows he should do something, but before he can get the situation to look right side up again, Kaleb runs in from the kitchen, settling a hand on Rodney’s shoulder and rubbing Rodney’s back.

***

The rest of the day spins by in a haze for John. Kaleb helps Rodney to the guest bedroom and settles him in for a nap; the family and John sit around a vegetarian dinner only slightly worse than some of the Athosian dishes he’s tried; Jeannie offers John an airbed to sleep on.

"We only have the one guest bedroom," Jeannie explains while she scrounges in the linen closet for the airbed, sheets, and a spare pillow. "You’re welcome to sleep in the living room, but I warn you, Kaleb is up at the crack of dawn, and he couldn’t be quiet to save his life."

"I’m usually up at the crack of dawn anyway," John says, already having argued that he could stay in a hotel. He can’t even believe he’s still in Canada - he expected to be on his way back to Atlantis by now, Rodney in tow.

"Listen," Jeannie says, "I think it might be best if you sleep on the floor in Mer’s room. I think he would appreciate it."

John starts to argue, but Jeannie sets her hand on his arm and it’s such a strange feeling he stops talking, stuttering to a halt between "Rodney’s" and "privacy."

"I think it would be best."

John sucks it up and takes the hint. Jeannie settles him into the guest room, brooking no opposition from Rodney, and waves her fingers goodnight at the pair before shutting the door quickly to avoid being hit by one of Rodney’s dirty socks.

John stands next to the airbed, his duffel at his feet, staring at Rodney, who has taken up pacing the three-foot passage between the end of his bed and the door.

"Go back to Atlantis," Rodney says, and John has never been more tempted.

"All right, let’s go," John says, picking up his bag.

"Leave of absence." Rodney waves his hand, indicating he’s bored with this conversation already. John doesn’t see anything unusual about the gesture, which eases his mind a little.

"Don’t give me that." John throws his duffel on the floor with more force than necessary, hoping to surprise Rodney into blurting out the truth so he can know what he’s up against. Rodney stops pacing and crosses his arms; a good start, but not enough for John to work with. "Atlantis needs you," John says, leaving off the obvious corollary: _you need Atlantis_. It’s true, too. In the eight-year war with the wraith, more than half of the Ancient technology they got up and running was jury-rigged by Rodney. Radek might be able to figure any particular piece out, given enough time and encouragement, but Rodney’s the only person they can trust in a pinch.

"Radek – "

"Is not you," John finishes smoothly. Rodney may mock his charm when he’s hitting on the local beauties, but he turns a blind eye when it’s _his_ ego John is stroking.

"True, but who is?" The smug smile on Rodney’s face is a welcome reminder of the Rodney he used to know – until last week. The smile falters a little, and Rodney starts pacing again. "He’s competent enough to manage things now that life-threatening situations only come up every couple of months." Rodney’s grinding fist against palm and John suddenly feels like the air has been sucked out of the room.

"Why are you doing that?!" As soon as the words are out, John regrets them. Rodney puts his hands behind his back and his eyes crinkle like he might start crying again. John puts his hands up defensively and tries to talk his way out of dealing with a weeping Rodney for the second time in twenty-four hours. "It’s okay, I probably never noticed before," John lies, anything to keep Rodney from crying.

Rodney flops onto the bed and crosses his arms over his face. "It stops the tingling."

In the space of a breath, John’s ready to run for the door. He knows Rodney is about to tell him what he’s come to find out, and part of him wants to stick his fingers in his ears and sing la-la-la so he doesn’t have to know. He stands still, waiting for the gut-wrenching punch line.

"I have MS."

John can feel his knees giving way as he starts to tip forward, and he throws his arms in front of himself instinctively. The airbed spares him from a couple of nasty bruises on his hands and knees, but it pops under the assault and angrily hisses air out of one of its seams.

Of all the things he thought might bring Rodney low, something as mundane as a disease is unthinkable. He wracks his brain for more information on MS, but he can’t even come up with its proper name (Muscular something? Sclero-something?). He also searches for something to say, some way to convey how sorrow has cut him open and threatened to spill his viscera onto the floor.

John forces himself to get up and sit next to Rodney on the bed, to put a hand on his shoulder. Rodney’s not crying and John is grateful for that, because he hasn’t cried since he was seven and the chain broke on his bike, giving him two gravelly knees and a cut on his chin, but he can feel his eyes stinging and he knows he won’t be able to control these waterworks if they start. He reins his emotions in, reminds himself that this is the same as any number of dangerous situations they’ve been in and Rodney needs him to keep them both on track.

"So how long before you can come back to Atlantis?"

Rodney sits up, and John’s glad to see anger glinting behind the pain and frustration that have taken up permanent residence on Rodney’s face. "I’m not going back," Rodney says, and barrels on before John can protest. "The leave of absence was a formality. Once they know my condition – "

"They don’t have to know," John answers, and waits for the pang of guilt that tells him the idea he’s got is morally questionable at best. He doesn’t feel anything beyond desperation to get Rodney back to Atlantis, and that tells him he’s on the right track.

"What?" Rodney asks, and under the annoyance, John can hear the spark of hope Rodney’s trying to keep out of his voice.

"They don’t have to know," John says. He doesn’t really know enough about the disease to say it for certain, but if it manifests the way it has so far… "So you don’t carry a P90. It’s not like you’re on the team for your marksmanship." Rodney chuckles, which John takes for agreement.

"What if I can’t work?" Rodney asks, and John thinks he’s never seen a more perfect example of ‘cautiously optimistic’ than Rodney’s face as he goes over the possibilities in his head. "My hand gets weak, tingly…"

"We’ll do it for you," John answers, and the first genuine smile since he came to Canada crosses his face as Rodney starts into his ‘no one can replace my genius’ rant. He lets Rodney go for a while before he interrupts, glad to hear the familiar self-aggrandizing arguments. "You’ll have to teach us," John says, and Rodney huffs a not-so-secretly pleased retort, discontinuing his rant.

"If I have a seizure?" Rodney asks, and the idea catches John off guard. Weak hands, stumbling gaits, John can handle that. He knows MS is permanent, but he doesn’t really have any idea how bad it can get, or if it’s fatal, though he thinks it might be.

"Ronon can carry you." The conversation tilts back to emotional and John can feel silence setting in, the mental roadblocks firmly in place, ingrained before he became a teenager and reinforced countless times since then. He takes a deep breath and waits for Rodney to spit out whatever is making his face pinch up unhappily.

"At some point I’ll have to come back here," Rodney says softly, and the resignation in his voice hollows John out. He stands up and moves over to Rodney’s three-foot pacing space.

"We’re your family, Rodney," John says, and clarifies when Rodney does nothing but stare at him. "I mean, you’re _my_ family. Ronon, Teyla, even you…" John stops because the thought punches him in the gut: every time he’s ever said "even Rodney" he’s always meant " _especially_ Rodney."

"Thank you," Rodney says quietly, and John doesn’t have to look at him to know that Rodney means it. John’s doing this because he’s selfish, and can’t face up to losing anyone else, and Rodney definitely shouldn’t be thanking him.

"We’ll take care of you." John’s not used to looking at his thoughts with such brutal honesty, and he realizes he meant something else. He corrects himself, quietly, and with more restraint than he would've believed he possessed.

" _I’ll_ take care of you."

John has no idea what he’s just promised, but he knows he’s in this with Rodney for the long haul, and that thought is much less scary than the thought of Rodney not being in Atlantis any more. John finally looks up at Rodney, and he can’t quite make out what Rodney’s feeling. It’s rare for Rodney to be speechless, but even rarer that you can’t read exactly what he wants to say on his face or in his hands. Rodney kicks the airbed, snorting as it envelops his foot. "You won’t be sleeping on that."

John prods it with the toe of his boot and it lets out a soft whoosh of air. He sighs. His back is going to kill him tomorrow morning.

"Oh please," Rodney says. "You’re sleeping up here with me. You can’t tell me your stupid country has regulations against two straight men sharing a queen size bed under duress."

"Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was repealed over a year ago," John points out, annoyed at defending the United States’ honor from a grumpy Canadian with a superiority complex.

"Great," Rodney says as he knocks the deflating air mattress under the bed. The room roughly doubles in size as a result. Rodney gathers a few things from the dresser and sidles past John on the way to the attached bathroom, silent for a change. John misses the endless talking. Or maybe he’s sick of changes. John listens to the murmur of running water as he pulls out his toothbrush – one of the four items he’s packed from Atlantis.

Rodney comes out in striped cotton pajamas and John can’t help but stare. No one bothered to bring pajamas to Atlantis; there was such limited room for personal items. It was different now, you could get nearly anything you wanted if you knew the right people, but John hadn’t thought of pajamas when he made his mental list of luxuries.

"What?" Rodney asks, looking around as if it’s not the first time John has seen his bare feet. They’re pale, in the way John has come to expect Rodney’s skin to look. They’re oddly delicate as well, which is not something John would have expected. John thinks back on their long history, and changes his assessment. He’s _seen_ Rodney’s feet a couple of times before; he’s never _noticed_ them before. [This whole thing might need to be pitched.]

John shakes his head and waits for Rodney to climb into bed before he goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth. When he comes back out he strips off his jeans and boots, considers taking off his t-shirt and doesn’t, and climbs under the covers with Rodney.

"I have an extra set, if you want," Rodney offers, and John laughs.

"I think I can survive without pajamas," John says kindly. Rodney shrugs and rolls over, curling onto his side with his legs tucked up close enough to his chest that he truly looks like an overgrown fetus. John has seen Rodney asleep a number of times, most often in the infirmary, but on occasion when he overslept or was needed somewhere in the middle of the night. Rodney’s a sprawler, John would have known that about him even if he had never seen him when he was asleep. To see him curled into himself so closely makes John’s throat tighten with comforting platitudes that he will never let escape.

"Good night, John-boy," Rodney sing-songs, and John snuffles a laugh.

"Good night, Rodney," he says, taking care to make his voice even.

***

When John opens his eyes the next morning, he’s laying on his side, eighteen inches from Rodney’s stomach. He sits up, wide awake, and realizes he’s moved down the bed in self-preservation; Rodney’s taking up at least eighty per cent of the bed, including John’s pillow. John spares a smile for Rodney, a genuine, _thank god you’re alive and mostly okay for the moment_ smile, and decides to join Jeannie for breakfast.

She’s standing at the island, sipping juice and reading the paper, and she beams at him when he walks in.

"Thank you," she says, and John’s has no idea what she’s talking about.

"You’re welcome," he answers, sincerely. "For what?"

"For staying with Mer," she answers, and pours him a cup of coffee, nodding at the sugar and non-dairy creamer across the counter. "We’ve had to get up every night since he came, he’s been inconsolable." When she registers the shock on his face, she adds, "Nightmares."

"That’s why you wanted me to stay with him?" John asks, thinking about taking back his apology. He folds his arms mulishly. "You could have told me."

"It’s Mer’s secret," Jeannie says.

"Not that," John says, careful to keep his frustration in check. This was likely to get worse before it got better and he needed to keep his calm façade in place. "About the nightmares."

"Oh," Jeannie says, and her face has gone blank except for the tinge of confusion in her eyes. "Did he…? I mean, I didn’t hear anything."

John laughs, one mirthless chuckle under his breath. He’s being an ass, but it's Jeannie, who probably deserves it. "No, he didn’t. But you could warn a guy." _Especially one that doesn’t really know how to handle these things_.

"Ha," Jeannie says and smiles, a smug little smirk that would look perfectly in place on Rodney’s face. "I figured he wouldn’t have any if you were there with him. And I was right." She’s beaming at him again and John has the urge to be cross with her just to wipe the look of superiority off her face. He takes a deep breath and lets his irritation go; none of this is Jeannie’s fault, and he needs to tell her their plan.

"I’m taking Rodney back to Atlantis," John says, and when he looks up he can count at least three distinct emotions warring on her face. One of them is relief, and he grabs on to it, hoping she won’t fight him on this. "We’ll take care of him, I promise," he says, wondering if he should put a hand on her arm, or maybe smile encouragingly at her. She gazes up at him, sad but grateful, and John tries to remember this is at least as hard for her as is it for him. 

"He belongs on Atlantis," she says, and he slouches back, coffee in hand, and beams at her.

***

John spends the next two weeks going to doctor’s appointments with Rodney and researching multiple sclerosis with Madison.

The doctors are informative and moderately hopeful. When they discuss worst-case scenarios, he can feel Rodney pulled tight with tension, like a guitar string about to snap. They don’t even bother with the best-case scenarios, experience with Atlantis coloring their view of what is possible and what isn’t. Nothing goes off without a hitch.

Rodney sleeps a lot, and the doctors said to expect as much, that he’d be recovering strength in his weak side. John wonders if it might not be depression setting in. Madison agrees with him, and he finds that both comforting and disconcerting.

She's the most serious eleven-year-old he has ever met, and he wonders if Rodney was the same at that age. As she helps him print up big binders of information and treatment options she casually informs him that she’s decided to be a doctor so that she can find a cure for MS and save her uncle Meredith, like he always saves everyone in her mom’s stories. John swallows the lump in his throat and helps her study for the anatomy class she’s taking online. 

When they only have two days left, Jeannie does Rodney’s laundry and John packs their bags, complete with several flash drives of compressed movies and television, several months’ worth of snack food, and a couple pair of pajamas. He calls a cab to the airport, insisting Jeannie shouldn’t waste her time, and wakes Rodney up with just enough time to shower and get dressed. He figures the less Rodney thinks about it, the better.

They stop over at the Mayo clinic to see a specialist, and the doc is extremely helpful, writing them several large prescriptions so they have enough medication for a full year. She doesn’t even blink when they say they can’t return for at least that long, that there are no pharmacies in Antarctica stocked for this. John glances at Rodney’s chart as she talks and when he sees that Rodney’s put him as next-of-kin (right behind Jeannie), his throat goes dry.

***

Once they return to Atlantis, it takes six months for them to settle into a routine. They only tell Teyla, Ronon, and Radek about Rodney’s condition. John wants to tell Woolsey, too, but Rodney nixes the idea, refusing to even discuss it. John expects that; he’s more surprised that Rodney suggests they tell Dr. Niranjan. John assumes he would tell her if something happened, but Rodney points out that if he has an attack and the whole team is compromised, she would have no way of knowing his condition. John accepts his decision and Niranjan’s gracious about it, letting them know that she’ll keep the strictest confidentiality.

Teyla and Ronon throw themselves into learning science and engineering. They schedule a mission to a deserted world so they can spend the day learning about the DHD. By the end of the day, they can all name the parts, disassemble and reassemble the main dialing crystals, and make a hasty patch if one of them is damaged. Ronon has a preternatural ability to understand the crystals, which surprises Rodney more than John. John and Teyla learn to do it by rote, setting each piece aside carefully so they know where it came from.

Radek tutors John in the off hours. John’s not an engineer by nature, and Radek is patient and explains thoroughly. Rodney leaps over parts of the explanation, thinking they’re too basic to bother with. John learns a lot from his lessons, continuing them even after Rodney stops teaching the team.

John institutes Must See TV night, insisting that they watch an episode a week instead of mainlining the whole series, as Rodney tends to do. It gives him an excuse to spend time watching Rodney carefully on a weekly basis. Rodney's his typical self, stealing popcorn from Ronon and hogging the middle of the couch.

It takes a full year before John feels like maybe they caught a break after all. Rodney’s completely back to normal, terrorizing his scientists and everyone else who gets in his way. They have a couple of tense moments, mostly with hostile indigenous peoples, but nothing life-threatening. The extra-cautious protocols they have in place for exploring the city and dealing with Ancient technology prevent most disasters in Atlantis, and the couple of minor ones have no casualties and reinforce the protocols nicely.

John and Rodney go back to Earth at yearly intervals, ostensibly for vacation, but really to check in with Rodney’s doctor at Mayo and visit Jeannie and Madison. The first time it ends up being a pretty good vacation, though John could think of things he’d rather be doing than tutoring Madison on pre-calculus – like tutoring Madison on pre-calculus while he’s surfing. Madison is as good as her word and Jeannie’s switched to home schooling to be able to keep up with her rush to get to med school. The next two visits are the same, except John’s tutoring differential equations and non-linear math, and Madison has become easily as frightening as Rodney when discussing her chosen field.

John evens out the off-world missions, allowing Lorne to take some that he would have jumped at before. He’s got three teams he trusts, including his own, and two that he only sends out to deserted planets and on science missions. He and Lorne work on a training regimen for new off-world teams, but it’s a wrench because a team survives on its instincts, and you can’t teach that.

Two years in, Rodney discovers the ZPM construction labs and John has to drag him away, complaining loudly, to go off-world a week later. When he sees the bags under Rodney’s eyes and how his clothes hang off him, John realizes he should be dragging Rodney away for more than missions. He recruits Ronon and Teyla to make sure Rodney eats more than powerbars and MREs and to bully him into sleeping every night. He makes sure Rodney doesn’t skip the team night off, forcibly escorting him from the lab and shooting Radek a dirty look that says ‘you should get some sleep too.’

Rodney sulks through the first few minutes of M*A*S*H before falling asleep on Teyla and snoring. The first time this happens, they give up on TV, and the entire team escorts Rodney back to his room to make sure he doesn’t fall asleep in the transporter. After that they let him sleep through the shows and John takes him back to his quarters afterward.

A year and a half later Rodney and Radek are ready to flip the switch on their newly constructed ZPM. Rodney’s come to John’s quarters twice to discuss it, juggling his excitement at the prospect of having his own ZPM factory with the possibility that it could, quite literally, blow up in their faces if they got so much as the tiniest bit of the calculations wrong.

John’s glad they decided to move the whole setup to a deserted lab off one of the unused piers. At least if something goes wrong, it won’t take out too much of Atlantis. Rodney assures him this assumption is wrong, that they could easily blow up the planet, and John doesn’t take the jab at Rodney’s soft spot. It’s too easy, not even worth the words it would take to pique Rodney.

John should have known three and a half years was too much good luck. The ZPM blows up, and while it only incinerates the lab and part of the pier, Radek is grievously injured. Rodney paces outside surgery for the entire fourteen-hour procedure as Niranjan pulls shards of the ZPM and all kinds of other shrapnel out of Radek. Rodney spends a couple more hours apologizing at Radek’s bedside, self-flagellating with 'if onlys.' John lets him get it all out and steps in when Rodney falls asleep with his head on Radek's infirmary-white blanket.

John leads Rodney back to his room and puts him to bed, gently undressing him and tucking him under the covers. He goes back to his own room and crashes face-first with his boots still on.

***

When John wakes up, he heads straight for the infirmary, certain Rodney will be there. He's not, though, and John smiles politely at Dr. Niranjan's update about Radek through the warnings that screech in his brain like air raid sirens. As soon as he can extricate himself, he nods his thanks and takes off running for Rodney's quarters. His door is locked. John tries to open it anyway but Rodney's got it superlocked somehow, and John hysterically thinks _only Rodney would be able to make Atlantis lock me out_. He pulls the cover off the crystals by the door, pissed off that he stopped his lessons with Zelenka when they discovered the damn ZPM lab. It takes three tries for him to recircuit the crystals before the door slides smoothly open. John’s not sure if he’s thrilled or insulted that it was so easy, and steps cautiously into the room.

Rodney's sprawled next to the bed, his limbs at odd angles. Not broken, but not... not _right_. He doesn't move or make any attempt to look at John, and John can tell he's sobbing, though he can't see it from the doorway.

"Rodney," John says, half-sliding, half-falling across the room to Rodney's side. Rodney's eyes are full of terror and John can feel the fear infecting him like a virus, adrenaline prickling on his skin and making his heart feel like it's trying to knock its way out of his body through his throat. He tries to pick Rodney up, but Rodney can't help; he's oddly heavy, and his left hand is grabbing John's jacket, fisting and unfisting in the cloth. He's mumbling something, but John can't make out what, and when he stops long enough to look at Rodney, he has to push down a tide of panic because Rodney’s face looks like it's melting off the right side of his skull.

"Medical team to McKay’s quarters," John says into his com. Rodney’s hand stops grasping at him and John looks in Rodney’s eyes again. The terror is still there, but behind something else… something grateful and relieved. John bends forward to press their foreheads together and clenches his eyes shut.

***

After the first couple of hours in the infirmary, John leaves Rodney to Teyla and Ronon and goes to see the housing assistant. One of the strangest parts of regular contact with Earth was the influx of corporate infrastructure that happened somewhere around year nine. There are secretaries now, administrative assistants and human resources. He secures a larger living space for Rodney, and sets about moving their stuff in. He’s stubbornly ignoring the fact that he or Rodney or both might be asked to leave Atlantis. Ronon comes by to help after half an hour. John knows he doesn’t like the infirmary either. Privately, he thinks anyone that likes to hang around a place where people are sick and dying is either a glutton for punishment or a sociopath. 

With Ronon’s help it only takes three more trips to settle Rodney’s stuff on one side of the open room and John’s bunk on the other side. He packs his stuff in one of the closets, but moves every bit of personal detritus from Rodney’s room and sets it as close to its original position as possible. He wants this to be home for Rodney. Ronon doesn’t say a word about the new living arrangements, though John knows he’s got a few choice jokes waiting for the situation to be less raw.

Niranjan is as good as her word, refusing to talk to Mr. Woolsey about Rodney’s condition. John knows he and Rodney will have to do it soon, but he’s glad to know that he can trust Niranjan. She releases Rodney to his care ten hours after the relapse, explaining that it was probably the stress of the ZPM and Radek that caused the attack. The paralysis on Rodney’s right side fades quickly, but the weakness and tingling don’t, so Niranjan gives him a cane to help with walking.

John leads him to his new quarters, and if he notices that they are two floors up, he says nothing. He says nothing about John’s bunk either. He limps over to his bed, only tripping once, and John forces himself not to crowd Rodney or overhelp. Rodney sits down slowly, and finally meets John’s eyes. The second he does, the dam breaks and he’s crying, mouth open and completely graceless. John knows what to do now; he’s been practicing this in his mind since he watched Kaleb comfort Rodney back on Earth.

He walks over – ambles, really, because he has to be strong and he’s doing it the only way he knows how – slow and smooth. He puts a knee on Rodney’s bed and a hand on Rodney’s shoulder, and rubs Rodney’s back; long, smooth strokes in an infinity pattern. Rodney surprises him then, turning his head into John’s chest and holding on like John might save him from drowning. The fact that Rodney’s left arm is squeezing the life out of him and his right arm is a barely registered presence hanging limply at Rodney’s side makes John ache.

"It’s okay," John whispers, carefully controlling the pitch and color of his voice. "It’s okay," he says again, knowing it’s a lousy lie but unequipped to come up with a better one.

Rodney’s doesn’t stop crying. After a few minutes, John has to sit but Rodney won’t let go; he wobbles himself down onto the bed and Rodney ends up lying half on top of him. John adjusts so he can support Rodney better and keeps rubbing Rodney’s back. Kaleb said he thought their mom might have rubbed their backs when they were young; it seemed to calm Jeannie when she was inconsolable.

The mechanics of comforting Rodney keep John’s own emotions at bay and he hums tunelessly, amused at the way it buzzes in his lungs because of Rodney’s weight. It doesn’t take long for Rodney to fall asleep, and John disentangles himself from Rodney’s death grip and tucks him in. 

***

Woolsey surprises him. He figures he can stop being surprised at the way people react to Rodney any time now. For all the annoying bluster and apparent egotism, people actually _like_ Rodney, and he can’t entirely chalk it up to the fact that he’s saved them all dozens of times.

He grounds John and Rodney for at least six weeks, but assures Rodney that once he regains his strength, he will remain on John’s team. John thought he would be grateful for this, but he really isn’t. He worries about Rodney enough when left up to his own devices, he was hoping to not have to worry about Rodney when they have to deal with alien peoples. He doesn’t voice his concern to Woolsey, though, because Rodney looks so thrilled to know he’s still going off-world, John doesn’t have the heart to ruin his happiness.

Teyla and Ronon are temporarily reassigned as fifth wheels to teams two and three. John has a talk with Ronon about following orders and a talk with Lorne about how best to use Teyla’s diplomatic skills. After that, he basically has nothing left to do but paperwork.

The paperwork is all paperless, so he can do it on his laptop in Rodney’s room. It takes several hours for Rodney to risk saying anything, and it comes out partially garbled. John can’t understand and after two more tries, Rodney opens a text window on John’s laptop and types his request. _Radek_. John accompanies Rodney to the infirmary and they sit at Zelenka’s bedside for an hour, after which Rodney looks like he has just pulled three consecutive all-nighters. John commandeers a wheelchair to take him back to his quarters and Rodney ungraciously accepts when it becomes clear he doesn’t have a choice in the matter.

Rodney starts to blush furiously when he wakes up the next day, and he manages to speak, which is accomplishment number one from the day before. "Shower," he croaks out, and John helps him to the bathroom, takes off his t shirt, and steels himself before asking if Rodney wants help with his boxers. 

"Try myself," John gets, though it’s pretty garbled. John nods, leaves the fresh towel on the toilet, and shuts the door behind him. He listens at the door, wondering if it’s considered eavesdropping. _Just want to make sure he’s okay_ , he reasons. He stops listening so closely once the water turns on (an incredibly long three minutes later), and goes about getting dressed for a run. As he’s tying his shoes he hears something from the bathroom. Not a crash, exactly, but definitely not the sounds of someone happily taking a shower.

"Rodney?" he yells into the door. "Are you okay?"

Muffled sounds come from the other side of the door and John rests his head against the jamb as he asks again.

"I can’t hear you," John says. "Are you okay?"

Silence, this time. He sighs and opens the door, his apprehension falling away when he sees Rodney lying on the floor, half in and half out of the shower, underwear twisted around his legs.

John kneels beside Rodney, who is crying silently, but looking determined nonetheless. Rodney slings an arm around John’s shoulders and John lifts him to sitting, then straddles his legs and pulls him up to standing. He settles Rodney against the wall for support and pushes Rodney’s underwear down to the floor. Rodney steps out of them almost delicately, his skin a mottled combination of fish belly white and embarrassment red.

Rodney looks mutinous, and John’s mind provides the voice of Rodney ranting in his head. He swallows whatever it is he’s feeling and goes into Military Commander of Atlantis mode. He orders Rodney around, shoving him, gently but with unyielding hands, and when Rodney is positioned in the shower (and John’s left side is drenched), he sits down on the toilet to wait.

"I can handle it from here." Rodney’s tone is scathing, even if the words sound like they’re coming from a slurry drunk.

"I’m not leaving," John answers. "You’re just going to have to get used to me intruding on your privacy until you can undress yourself without _falling over_." He’s careful to keep things light, poking at Rodney as if they’re in the field and John’s trying to distract him from radiation, or natives with spears, or some other random deadly threat. 

Rodney snorts and puts his head under the spray. John wishes he had something to read or something to do, and plays with the sink to distract himself. He can smell Rodney’s shampoo and he laughs, the strangeness of his situation settling on him. 

***

The next weeks turn into a blur as John and Rodney hack out a rhythm to their day. John gets up early for a run and to get first pick at the mess, which he brings back for Rodney. The coffee usually wakes Rodney up – even though it's only decaf – and after an hour of John wrangling Rodney in the bathroom (which only lasts two weeks – Rodney is extraordinarily motivated to be able to use the bathroom without help), they take a walk to stretch Rodney’s legs. It’s usually a pretty short walk, though by the end of the month, Rodney seems to be moving almost normally. They spend a couple of hours doing paperwork (John) or simulations (Rodney) before they start the long walk to the mess hall.

Rodney starts going to lunch after the first week. John thinks it’s because Rodney doesn’t like having a live-in nurse, someone who brings him three squares, dispenses his medicine on an eerily precise schedule, and badgers him into walking and stretching and training his muscles. John gives him long massages on his weak side too, so he supposes that makes him Rodney’s personal trainer as well.

After lunch, the required infirmary visit (Radek woke up three days after Rodney’s attack and refused to listen to Rodney apologize, saying it was as much his own fault as it was Rodney’s) and usually an appearance in the labs. Simpson keeps everything moving smoothly, though she looks strained and they’ve put anything remotely dangerous on hold while Rodney and Radek are recovering.

They waste enough time out and about to circle back to the cafeteria for an early dinner, pocketing plenty of snacks for their evening in front of the idiot box. Any number of people stop by to visit during TV time. Ronon, Teyla, Sam, Jennifer, Simpson (though she’s usually looking for advice), Lorne, Miko… Sometimes they have enough people to make it feel cheery. Sometimes it’s just Ronon or Teyla and John goes for a walk, more to give Rodney time away from him than to get over his own cabin fever. 

John wanders the halls of Atlantis on those nights, remembering how she feels, remembers being connected to someone – some _thing_ – other than Rodney. He’s sometimes amazed how much his life has changed over the course of Rodney’s recovery from the relapse… how easy it was to slip into the role of caregiver, how grateful he is for the simple fact that Rodney is here, in Atlantis, still ranting at his personnel and doing brilliant theoretical physics in his spare time.

After six weeks, when Rodney is mostly back to normal save lingering weakness in his right hand and foot, John gets back to a semblance of his old routine. He adjusts it here and there, adding a check on Rodney every couple of hours, making sure Rodney eats regularly, doesn’t pull all-nighters, and gets exercise from time to time. It’s not really that different than it has been in the past.

***

"Colonel Sheppard."

Rodney's voice is clear over the radio, and John is grateful for small miracles as he presses the switch on his comm. "McKay," he answers.

"Will you please come to the puddlejumper lab? I need your assistance." The puddlejumper lab is code for Rodney's quarters, and John's glad they took the precaution as Woolsey raises an eyebrow. "Still working on..." John says, not bothering to finish the sentence, knowing Woolsey wouldn't care if he said "shield modifications" or "split pea soup." He gives a nod and Woolsey smiles brightly back at him, without a hint of sarcasm.

When John arrives, Rodney’s sitting on his bed, staring anxiously at a computer screen. 

"What is it?" John asks. 

Rodney flips the computer around. "Dawn of the Dead?"

John should be annoyed, but he can’t bring himself to get that worked up. He’s bored. "Yeah, all right." 

He sits next to Rodney and slouches back against the wall. Rodney stretches out across the remainder of the bed, and throws a bag of Doritos between them. Rodney carefully takes a chip at a time with his right hand. He’s gotten nearly all his strength back in the six weeks since his attack, but his right hand is still shaky and weak. Rodney forces himself to use it, trying to regain the muscle memory; it doesn’t seem to be working, but John doesn’t say anything.

Rodney fidgets for the first half of the movie, and when Rodney fidgets, he does it with his whole body. He changes position fifteen or more times, only settling in when he can feel John next to him, shoulder and knee. John relaxes and lets the movie wash over him, camp and genius warring for his attention.

As the last scene plays, John stretches up and away from the wall, wishing he had time for a nap. He’s warm and sleepy, and he eyes his cot for a moment before Rodney distracts him. He had a feeling Rodney wanted something more than a warm body to lean against and a classic zombie movie. 

"You love me," Rodney says as the end credits roll. 

_What?_ John thinks. That’s out of left field. He spreads his hands magnanimously. _Okay._

"I love you, too."

Now John has an inkling of where this is going, and he knows it isn’t good. "That’s great," he answers, and pushes up off the bed, disconnecting the warm circuit they had running between them. 

"John," Rodney says, and _fuck_ , John thinks, _he’s using my own name against me_.

"Yes, _Rodney_?" John says, turning around. He crosses his arms and looks stern, attempting to intimidate Rodney into shutting up. It doesn’t really work. It just makes Rodney more nervous, and John knows that usually makes him more resolute. 

"I… I thought we should… I mean, I could…" He squints at John and John shoots him a half-smile. _Hell yes_ , John thinks, _if you’re going to go through with this, I’m going to make you say every single word out loud_. Rodney glares at him, but he’s getting more determined by the minute; John knows he’s going to do it, he’s going to ask for sex, and his stomach suddenly feels like it’s going to eject lunch at Mach 3.

John knows it’s like this sometimes, in the military. He’s seen and heard enough to know it’s a release valve, a way to work out stress, or something to do to relieve boredom. He’s never felt the need, himself, his hand served him fine, and he never had any reason to screw over his career (in that way, at least). Even after it was no longer a court martial offense, he’d never thought about sex with another guy, and the fact that he’s nauseous now tells him that he’s still not ready to think about it. He hopes it’s nerves and not bigotry. He’d hate to turn into his father.

"Are you offended?" Rodney asks him, as if he can read John's mind. 

"Of course not!"

"Are you afraid?" Rodney asks.

"No," John says, though he thinks _maybe_.

"Then what?" Rodney has the upper hand now, and the superiority Rodney had set aside since his attack is rapidly returning.

"I’m not gay."

"So what? Neither am I." Rodney says it as if that makes the idea logical.

John doesn't answer, and Rodney takes that as an indication that he should continue with his argument. "I think we should try kissing."

"What?!" John asks. Warning bells are going off, they sound terrifyingly like the alarms in his chopper when it was going down.

"You know, kiss. I love you, you love me, it stands to reason if we can get started, things will just..." Rodney's vocabulary fails him and he resorts to a dismissive roll of his hand.

"No," John answers, and his body kicks into gear, trying to escape, turning for the door.

"Oh, like you've had so much sex lately," Rodney taunts, and John's not sure how insults are supposed to help Rodney's case, but he’s not turning around to find out. He takes another step toward the door, and he can hear the desperation in Rodney’s voice when he speaks next.

"Neither have I!" Rodney says quickly, barreling on as John turns back around. "I mean, I notice you haven't been picking up the alien babes anymore, and it's not like you're going to get any on Atlantis."

John raises an eyebrow. He means it to be vaguely threatening, but McKay mistakes it for curiosity. He gets up off the bed, bobbling and catching himself, pushing off the mattress and finally standing up straight. 

"Well, everyone assumes we're a couple, don't they?"

John knows it's true, he can feel the pieces of the equation fall into place. They room together, they vacation together, John takes care of Rodney... shit. 

"Let me do this for you," Rodney says, taking a step closer. John frowns. 

"Let me do this for you _while I still can_ ," Rodney says, and John frowns harder. This should not be convincing. 

"I _want_ to do this for you," Rodney whispers, and John's stomach turns over again. 

"I'm not going to take advantage of your gratitude!" John grits out, stopping Rodney’s slow advance across the room.

"I just said I _want_ to do this," Rodney says, looking puzzled. "You _can’t_ take advantage of me."

John takes a step back to gain some breathing room. "You feel obligated to me, I get it. Buy me toaster. Hell, _make_ me a toaster." John pulls the conversation back into safer waters, getting it out of the place where his chest feels too tight to breathe. 

"John," Rodney says, and pauses to give his name full weight. Rodney’s always had a grasp of how personal John's first name is; he’s the only person who uses it with intent. "Don’t tell me if you close your eyes, you can’t pretend it’s a woman sucking your dick." 

John’s mouth drops open and he wills some kind of negation to come out of it. His brain refuses to cooperate, however, and his cock is definitely on board with Rodney’s plan. Rodney looks at his crotch pointedly and John feels betrayed by his own body. His heart’s sped up too, thumping a ridiculously fast beat in his ears and chest, and a slow, hitching thrum in his cock. 

Rodney steps in, close enough for John to take a step back to maintain equilibrium. Rodney does it again, and so does John, like a drunken waltz. Rodney takes one more step forward, and when John steps back he hits his bunk. He looks down, wondering how he crossed the room in two and a half steps and in the second he's distracted, Rodney puts the slightest pressure on his shoulders, enough for him to lose his balance and sit down heavily on the bed.

"I'm too old for new tricks," John says, one last-ditch effort before he caves. He can feel it coming, the inevitable implosion at the battering ram of Rodney's will, and he wants to know he put up a good fight.

"You're only fifty," Rodney says, dropping down next to him on the bed. "Take Atlantis into account and that's probably less than half your lifespan." John doesn't like that idea at all; Rodney's likely to get a couple of decades more at most, and he could be incapacitated for some or all of it. 

"Hmm," Rodney says, interrupting John’s depressing train of thought. "Maybe I should kiss you first."

"Why?" John asks, grateful for the change in topic.

"Because after I’ll taste like –"

"I’m a gentleman," John interrupts. "I’ll kiss –" _a girl_ "– someone who gives me a blowjob."

"You promise?" Rodney asks, and John wonders when he blew right by denial into anticipation. He considers his answer carefully. The blowjob is the deal breaker, so what’s the harm in a kiss?

"I promise."

Rodney smiles, a surprised, sweet smile, and John smiles back at him tentatively. His mind is racing, trying to put together when Rodney started to feel this way. Shouldn’t he have noticed? 

"Close your eyes," Rodney says, and puts his hand over John’s eyes, just to be sure. John’s other senses kick in immediately; he can feel, hear, and smell Rodney’s breath. A brief spurt of panic rears its head as John thinks _He’s going to kiss me!_ , but Rodney’s weight shifts from the bed next to him, and he can hear Rodney’s knees creak as he reaches the floor.

The next thing he feels is a tug on the laces of his boots. John’s boots and socks are removed in no time. John realizes he’s done this for Rodney on several occasions; it’s a strange feeling to have someone else take off your shoes. He’s never thought about it before.

Industrious hands move to John’s belt. John hears his breath catch even as he can feel the tightness in his throat that causes it. It’s quiet in here, he realizes. He’s never noticed because Rodney’s voice has always filled up the nooks and crannies. He listens for the shift and slip of his BDUs and boxers being pulled down his legs and his ass complains so loudly about the wool blanket that he laughs out loud.

Rodney seems to take it in stride, hands as sure as ever as they finish removing John’s clothes. John has the distinct feeling of being manhandled, albeit tenderly. The hands pressing down on John’s thighs are hot and slightly clammy, and John is relieved to know that Rodney isn’t as cool as he’s letting on.

Gentle hands firmly spread his legs - _that’s not like any woman I’ve ever known_ \- and John feels Rodney crawl into the space between them. His cock gives another jump, and for a millisecond he wants to open his eyes, but he knows himself well enough to know that would be disastrous. He pushes the temptation out of his mind and concentrates on Rodney’s warm hands, now on the small of his back, pulling his hips away from the wall with enough strength for John to feel a ray of hope for his total recovery from the relapse.

Something must be telegraphing that he’s thinking too much, and a nip to his inner thigh does a lot to quell it. A hot, wet mouth joins the hands, which are suddenly everywhere – stomach, balls, hips, anywhere but on his cock. Each touch is soft, almost searching, and after a few moments, he figures out that Rodney is _experimenting_. Everywhere within reach of Rodney’s mouth is licked, sucked, and bitten. His hands skim, knead, and pinch. John’s never given his own nipples a thought before, but when Rodney applies his mind to them, John has to clamp down on himself to keep from squirming right off the bed. As it is, Rodney can tell he enjoys it too much and his cock is definitely standing at attention. 

"I can hear you compiling data," John says, though the breathiness of his voice ruins the effect.

A soft snort from Rodney, but nothing more. John has made and broken more deals with himself in the last five minutes than in his entire existence and he’ll be damned if he is going to open his eyes just to see the smug look on Rodney’s face.

Rodney’s mouth on his cock is not like a woman’s either; it’s soft and wet, but, like Rodney, it’s also _pushy_. Rodney hits his gag reflex only once – pulls off, swallows, and coughs – but immediately gets back to work, his hand wrapped firmly around the base of John’s cock to avoid the problem again. John feels like he’s being taken for a test drive.

Rodney’s back to experimenting – everything from playing with John’s balls (which nearly makes him climb the wall to get away from it) to doing some tricky thing with his tongue on the head of John’s cock (which makes John incoherent and he can _feel_ Rodney’s smirk). Rodney winds him up and then switches tacks just before John comes, twice, three times, four times. John’s fists are twisting in the blanket and his teeth are gritted against letting out anything more than his already too-obvious non-verbal sounds. He’ll be damned if he’s going to give Rodney the satisfaction of begging.

Rodney goes back to one of the strokes that John really likes, a long slow pull with just enough suction followed by a stroke from Rodney’s hand. Fuck, that’s good. Despite his best effort at control, John raises his hips off the bed trying to get that extra edge that will let him come. He bites his lower lip, at least muting the moans Rodney’s pulling out of him. His hips flex up, up, then back away so he can do it all over again. Rodney never lets him gain momentum, though, he’s got an iron grip on the rhythm and won’t let John sway it.

"Fuck, Rodney," John growls, "let me – "

The second John starts talking, Rodney ups his game, and John can feel it building, a couple more strokes, just a little more… then Rodney’s finger passes over his hole, and he comes, choking off surprised sobs. 

John takes a few steadying breaths before opening his eyes, blinking a couple of times to get used to the light. He sees Rodney concentrating on getting off the floor, purposefully arranging his legs to make sure they can support his weight. John’s arms are shaking, but he reaches out for Rodney, offers him a hand. 

"Thank you, Colonel," Rodney says, and plops down next to him on the bed, leaning back against the wall. John doesn’t say anything about the ‘Colonel’, though he wonders if he should. He knows Rodney uses it when he’s trying to be deceptive or polite; he’s not sure which is the case here.

He leans back, shoulder to shoulder with Rodney, and wonders what the hell to say. He means to say ‘thanks,’ but what actually comes out is: "How about that kiss?"

Rodney blinks, once, twice, and then immediately dives in for his kiss, grabbing John by the neck and pulling him down. Rodney’s had his chance, though, and John’s had enough of being in the passenger seat. He pulls back, grabbing Rodney’s wrists and removing his hands from John’s neck. Rodney’s mouth is open, his lips swollen, and John stays near, but not near enough that Rodney can close the gap between their mouths. He settles Rodney’s hands on his waist, for lack of somewhere better to put them, and grabs Rodney’s hip in one hand (which wins him a breathless whine) and threads the fingers of his other hand into Rodney’s hair, cupping Rodney’s skull in his hand (which gets him a high-pitched ‘ah’).

John has barely enough time to think _those are the girliest sex noises ever_ before he leans in for the kiss. He’s surprised by the salty taste and the slipperiness of Rodney’s mouth; he expected something bitter. John’s always liked neat kisses, or maybe the women he’s dated have, but Rodney clearly couldn’t care less about finesse. Their mouths slide over each other, veering sloppily off-course, their tongues going for anything they can reach – teeth, lips, skin.

Rodney’s hips start to move and John realizes he needs to do something more. He pushes down the beginnings of a truly spectacular freak out and slides his hand off of Rodney’s hip and onto his erection. Rodney chokes a little, pushes up against John’s palm and keens. John’s about to laugh and say ‘You are such a girl,’ when Rodney comes, sighing out his name – _John_ – throaty and thick, and John doesn’t feel like laughing any more. He feels numb, the emptiness carved out by Rodney’s voice filling like quicksand with fear, shame, and a new twist on whatever it is he feels for Rodney.

John figures he’s got approximately 3.5 seconds to get himself under control before Rodney opens his eyes and sees everything John’s feeling written on his face. He sifts through all the light-hearted insults he can throw at Rodney and picks the first one that doesn’t ring eerily true.

"Can’t drop the genius bit, even while having sex?"

Rodney opens his eyes and smirks, and John feels the familiar flip of his stomach protesting the emotional turbulence. "It was simple, really, I simply synthesized all the techniques that have ever been used on me and tested them all for effectiveness."

John’s mouth drops open. "You reverse engineered a blowjob?"

"I didn't hear you complaining," Rodney answers smugly.

"Well, I made _you_ come with one touch of my hand," John answers, feeling strangely proud of himself.

"Yes, well," Rodney says, and John’s pleased to have the upper hand. "You were hotter than you were supposed to be."

"What?" John asks. "How long have you been planning this?" John asks, even though he doesn’t really want to know the answer to that question.

"It’s all your fault," Rodney says, and for the first time in a long while, John listens to Rodney’s words, not his gestures. "I was embarrassed about the… shower thing, and I was thinking about revenge, which led to thinking about ways to get you naked, and then I… I realized that was kind of gay. And then…" Rodney takes a deep breath, and John fights the blind panic that makes him consider running for the door even though he’s not wearing a stitch of clothing. "And then, I realized that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. I mean," Rodney looks up at him, so serious and stubborn that John feels guilty for his urge to flee, "you’re the only person around here who can even stand me –"

"That’s not true."

"– and I’ve completely ruined the possibility of a social life for you –"

"Also not true."

"– and once I pictured you naked, I wasn’t appalled, so –"

"Thanks a lot."

"– I thought that maybe I could do this." Rodney looks guilty, but also proud of himself, before his eyes go round with the realization that he’s put his foot in his mouth again. "We… we could do this. I meant that I thought I could you know," he waves a hand in the direction of John’s crotch and John drops his head and smiles ruefully.

"You’re freaking out, aren’t you?" Rodney asks him, and John doesn’t remember Rodney being this perceptive before. "You are. You’re going to resent me and leave and I’m going to have to be dependent on my sister and the tofu-eating English professor –"

"Rodney." John’s trying to control his own volatile state of mind; he can’t spare more than the minimum effort to rein in Rodney’s out-of-control thoughts. "I’m fine. You won’t have to live with Jeannie."

Rodney casts him a sidelong glance that’s halfway between disbelief and a pout. John feels his heart beating entirely too fast and for a brief moment wonders if he’s having a heart attack. He doubts it, mainly because he doesn’t think it would be accompanied by a singular desire for Rodney to know that he belongs in Atlantis. "Okay," John admits, "I’m not fine, but I’m not leaving. I made a promise and you can trust that much. The rest of this?" He waves a hand between them. "I need to think about it." 

Rodney takes a breath, ready to argue or rant or fill the air with words, but John puts a hand up to stall him as he steps off the bed and starts to dress himself. "You’ve argued your point already," John says. He can feel the tension in Rodney’s posture – he wants to talk or pace or fidget. "What?" John asks.

"I might have done some things differently if I thought I was only going to get one shot at this." Rodney sniffs, as if the idea that John can’t immediately jump on the gay bandwagon is distasteful. John carefully holds his temper in check and doesn’t rise to the bait.

"I said I need to think about it." 

***

John changes into shorts and a raggedy t-shirt, sparing a glance for Rodney as he finishes tying up his running shoes. He looks annoyed and stubborn, his arms crossed over his chest as he sits primly on his bed, watching John. 

"Your stubborn disapproval isn't doing you any favors," John says, going into a calf stretch. "I'm sorry I didn't meet your expectations –"

"Oh please," Rodney says, tilting his head in disapproval. "Like I'm looking for an apology. Just go run and figure it out for yourself."

***

If John had ever thought about it, he would’ve admitted that he expected to die in the Pegasus galaxy. Hopefully doing something that would save his friends and be heroic, but he was certain he’d die (relatively) young and in battle. When he turned fifty, he still had these expectations, but without the ‘young’ attached. When he turned sixty, he finally realized he wasn’t going to die heroically. He still might die in the Pegasus galaxy (assuming they’d let him stay after he retired), but it wasn’t likely to be doing anything heroic.

***

Being a general is even less fun then being a colonel.

***

All the things about Rodney that seem irritating are endearing to almost everyone after prolonged exposure, though certainly John is been more capable than most of blocking out or ignoring Rodney’s less attractive personality traits. 

***

"Why are you freaking out?" John asks, ready to strangle Rodney so he doesn’t have to listen to more rants about flowers and seating arrangements. "We’ve been married for three years and dating practically since we got to Atlantis–"

Rodney chokes on his coffee and John smirks at him. Rodney’s look of utter devotion makes him glad that he’s taken the time to go over every moment of their life together and watch it unfold with a new appreciation that comes from knowing what’s next. 

"Yes, but –"

"Rodney, we’re _already married_. All we’re doing is making it legal. It’s just paperwork… and a night of really good drinking with friends."

***

Sex is slow and careful now, like their lives, but it’s more satisfying, too – thicker and deeper. When John finally comes after hours of groping and rubbing and licking, he wondered what his fascination with speed was, anyway. (Bittersweet, smooth, open)

***

OVERTURE: John outlining the first ten years on Atlantis  
ACT 1: Diagnosis  
\--Scene: Rodney in the infirmary for tripping  
\--Scene: Rodney shooting John  
\--Interlude: Email from Jeannie  
\--Long Scene: John goes to Jeannie’s  
\--Long Scene: Rodney admits his illness to John  
\--Scene: John tells Jeannie he’s taking Rodney back to Atlantis  
\--Coda: The rest of John’s stay in Canada, the trip home  
BRIDGE: 3½ healthy years; discovery of the ZPM lab  
ACT 2: Relapse  
\--Scene: John finds Rodney  
\--Scene plus bridge: John moves in with Rodney, brings him home  
\--Bridge including brief scene: Taking care of business, John’s first nursing duties  
\--Bridge: Six weeks of recovery  
\--Long scene: first time sexual encounter  
\--Scene: John has his freakout; Teyla talks him down (Ronon sent her – he was with Rodney)  
\--Coda: bed shopping  
BRIDGE: 2½ moderately healthy years; John asking Rodney to marry him  
ACT 3: Wedding  
\--Scene: John asks Teyla to be his best man  
\--Scene: Wedding planning with Rodney, trying to make it as low stress as possible  
BRIDGE: 3 more healthy years  
ACT 4: Relapse; Rodney starts to lose memory and cognitive function  
BRIDGE: Touring the world, searching for Rodney’s protégé  
ACT 5: Rodney’s training the new guard; John’s promotion and grounding  
LONG BRIDGE: 17 years and three more relapses; Rodney’s in a scooter that Zelenka’s rigged to go entirely too fast and that has a detachable sidecar for John; John tenders his resignation; Atlantis is no longer mission personnel only; children born there were allowed to stay, which led to family members being brought on (originally as staff, though that gets lax later) and retired personnel are allowed to stay.  
ACT 6: Renewal of their vows  
BRIDGE: 9 more years; slow, steady decline; Rodney loses lucidity at the end.  
ACT 7: Rodney’s death; John’s death in the days following. Slow – dirgelike.  
CODA: Two babies are born in Atlantis in the next year – one with a tuft of black hair that sticks straight up (girl, Cate, to Miko’s son) who crawls all over the place and likes heights and another (boy, Shannon, to Cadman’s daughter) that plays piano instinctively by age three and takes apart and puts together ancient technology by age seven. And Atlantis mothers them, glowing and nudging and keeping them safe.

***

sotto voce


End file.
